


No Job is Too Big

by Rubick



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Did you turn it off and then back on again?, Eliot Waugh's Canonically Huge Dick, Flirting, Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, POV Quentin Coldwater, oblivious Quentin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:08:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28182150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubick/pseuds/Rubick
Summary: “Took you long enough—” the Adonis in a button-down says, his words dying in his throat as he locks eyes with Quentin. His shirt is dark green with gold paisley swirling around it, bringing out the tiny gold flecks in his hazel eyes. The first few buttons are undone, giving Quentin a peek of sharp collarbones (god he wants to lick them) and a tease of chest hair that Quentin is already imagining running his fingers through.He’s a head taller than Quentin, the perfect height for Quentin to nestle right into his graceful neck, drag his tongue over his pulse point and bite and nibble up to his strong jaw. A smattering of stubble over his face gives him a roguish air, and Quentin wonders what it would feel like against his lips.“S—Sorry,” Quentin says, clutching at the strap of his messenger bag.Okay, so he’s gorgeous, so what, get your shit together. You’re here to fuck his—FIX, fix his water heater, god.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 36
Kudos: 173
Collections: Peaches and Plums Stockings 2020





	No Job is Too Big

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kingquentin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingquentin/gifts).



> For kingquentin, who deserves all the fluffy bullshit life has to offer.
> 
> Many thanks to [mixtapestar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixtapestar) for their beta work.

Quentin checks the text on his phone, making sure he’s at the right place. He’s already running late; hopefully the client won’t be too irritated.

“35, Margo Hanson,” he mutters under his breath, walking down the hall until he arrives at the blue door. It’s painted TARDIS blue, different from the other doors in the hall that are all a boring beige, which brings an immediate smile to his face. He shoves his phone in his pocket, adjusts his messenger bag over his shoulder, and knocks on the door.

He’s standing outside hardly five seconds when the door is yanked open by the most beautiful man he’s ever laid eyes on.

“Took you long enough—” the Adonis in a button-down says, his words dying in his throat as he locks eyes with Quentin. His shirt is dark green with gold paisley swirling around it, bringing out the tiny gold flecks in his hazel eyes. The first few buttons are undone, giving Quentin a peek of sharp collarbones ( _god he wants to lick them_ ) and a tease of chest hair that Quentin is already imagining running his fingers through.

He’s a head taller than Quentin, the perfect height for Quentin to nestle right into his graceful neck, drag his tongue over his pulse point and bite and nibble up to his strong jaw. A smattering of stubble over his face gives him a roguish air, and Quentin wonders what it would feel like against his lips. Or his inner thighs.

The stranger’s—client’s—eyes are brilliantly clear, staring at Quentin like he’s never seen him before. Which he hasn’t, Quentin quickly realizes. This is the first time they’ve ever seen each other, and Quentin is just staring at him like a complete idiot.

“S—Sorry,” Quentin says, clutching at the strap of his messenger bag. _Okay, so he’s gorgeous, so what, get your shit together. You’re here to fuck his—FIX, fix his water heater, god._ “I got kind of lost, the portal dropped me off at the wrong intersection and I’m not very familiar with this side of Brooklyn, but it seems really nice, I saw a great book shop I’ll probably check out—um, but anyway—I’m here to fix your water… heater,” he finished quietly, eyes moving from the Greek God’s eyes to the beige doormat that says _Welcome Bitches_ in a swooshy font, up and up and up his long legs ( _tall enough to climb like a tree_ ) to his arms, hanging loosely by his sides, back to his face and ( _Jesus_ ) his lips, which are twisting into an amused smile.

“Well, hello,” he says, stepping back and opening the door wider. “Please come in.” He’s smiling broadly, causing the little dimple in his chin to become more pronounced, and Quentin nearly trips over his own feet as he steps into the apartment.

Quentin can feel magic tingling against his skin as he walks through the doorway, from wards and planar compression spells that have obviously been applied. From the outside, this should’ve been, at max, a two-bedroom apartment, but Quentin can see more than one hallway leading off the living and kitchen area. It’s a really nice apartment—there are artsy photographs hung strategically in a way Quentin thinks must be designed to spark joy or whatever, a full bookcase along one wall, and modern furniture that still looks comfortable and homey. The door to the balcony is open, and Quentin can see a few chairs and a small table sitting out in the afternoon sunshine.

“It’s been cold showers for the past twenty-four hours, and if Margo comes home to find out she can’t take a hot bath, well… maybe you should stick around so she can take her wrath out on you instead of me.” Quentin turns to see Tall and Gorgeous smiling down at him, and he can’t help but smile back. His smile falters though, when he realizes that _Margo_ must be his wife. _Of course_ he’s lusting after someone’s husband, it’s not like life would ever give him a sexy _single_ person that’s actually interested in him.

Quentin clears his throat—he should do what he came here for before he does or says something he’ll regret. “Um, show me where the water heater is?”

Tall and Gorgeous arches an eyebrow. “Right to business, hmm?” Quentin swears he eyes him from head to foot before turning and walking down one of the hallways. He opens the door to the small closet that houses the water heater. “It stopped working sometime yesterday. We tried to get an actual repairman, but Bambi banged our last one and never called again, and apparently that got us on someone’s shitlist and no one’s calling us back.” 

Quentin chuckles, trying not to notice the tingles that run up his shoulder when he steps by Tall and Gorgeous in the small hallway and their arms brush, and also not how he smells like cinnamon and vanilla and some other unidentifiable _thing_ that Quentin wants to roll in until it’s clogged up every pore of his body. “Well, I can fix most anything, so shouldn’t be a problem.”

He starts looking at the main power box and the connectors to the main plumbing, and he can feel Tall and Gorgeous watching him, like his eyes are a physical touch against his skin. Quentin is working _really hard_ on focusing on his job that he’s here to do in order to get paid and not on how he needs to get laid so he can stop fantasizing about his clients _god how unprofessional_ and he nearly drops his flashlight when that damn voice reaches his ears, and _fuck_ talking about repairing appliances should not sound that sexy.

“We really only called you on a lark. I thought you’d only worked on magical objects. I was surprised when they said they’d send someone out for something mundane as unclogging my pipes.” Quentin, again, nearly drops his tool at the flirtatious tone in his voice. He risks a glance over and yep, still gorgeous, still watching Quentin as he leans against the wall, arms crossed, eyes focused on Quentin’s hands as he moves in a few tuts that will point out where the problem may be.

“Well, th-there’s not as many magical objects as you’d think that need fixing,” Quentin says, clearing his throat. A smile pops up on his face as he finds the problem. It’s a simple fix, which is… too bad, really. He’ll be done in the next five minutes, and he’ll have no reason to stay in this apartment and near this completely average looking man that he will absolutely not be fantasizing about in the shower tonight. _He’s someone’s husband or boyfriend or whatever._ “We repair most anything that people ask for, appliances, jewelry, even broken china. Although most magicians can handle that on their own.” 

He finishes off with a few more tuts, smiling as he feels that gentle contentment that always warms his torso when he completes a mending. “All done,” he says, flipping the power back on for the water heater.

Tall and Gorgeous straightens up, frowning slightly. God, how can he make a frown sexy? “Already?”

 _I’m not that fast at everything I do_ , is Quentin’s immediate thought, and he nearly chokes as he clamps his mouth shut so the words don’t actually hit the air. He needs to get out of here before he does something really embarrassing, like trip and fall head first onto Tall and Gorgeous’s cock, which he knows, is _completely fucking certain_ , is just as beautiful as the rest of him.

“Yep,” Quentin squeaks out, turning and nearly running into the wall on the other side of the hallway in his haste to move away from Tall and Gorgeous, who is somehow a few steps closer than he was before. “Um, let’s go test it. It should work immediately, the spells I cast warmed up all the water in the tank.” He slides past Tall and Gorgeous in the small hallway, heading to the kitchen he passed when they walked in.

He turns on the kitchen sink, waving his fingers under the water, waiting for it to get warm. Tall and Gorgeous walks up next to him, wearing that same amused smile, and Quentin looks at the sink, at the hanging rack that holds several shiny pots and pans, at the fresh flowers in a vase on the counter, anywhere but at the inquisitive eyes that he knows are still trained on him and why does this guy keep looking at him, he’s not that great to look at, _god_ is there something on his face or in his teeth he had a salad before coming over, at the cafe with Julia, she would’ve told him if there was something—

“Shit!” He’d turned the hot on all the way and the water coming out is really hot, and he yanks his finger out from under the tap. “Well, it works.” He quickly puts his finger in his mouth, wrapping his tongue around it to try to soothe some of the burn. He turns to Tall and Gorgeous, and finds his mouth hanging slightly open, his eyes a shade darker as he stares at Quentin’s mouth.

“I’ll—uh—get you some ice,” he says, taking steps towards the freezer, but never taking his eyes off Quentin’s face.

 _God, can you do nothing right_ , Quentin thinks, quickly pulling his finger out of his mouth. “No, no,” he says. He has to get out of here. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Um. Yeah.” He quickly makes his way over to the little table in the dining area, where he’d left his messenger bag. He grabs it and starts to the door, talking the entire way, not even looking back at Tall and Gorgeous. “So. Yeah, they’ll bill you, send you a bill, for um, the repair, whatever, if there’s any problems, just call and they’ll send someone back over. Okaybye.” And then he’s outside in the hallway, down the stairs. He has one more job and then he can go home and jerk off until he’s pumped all thoughts of Tall and Gorgeous out of his mind.

~~~

He’s off the next day, and he spends it laying around his apartment, working on his novel, playing his Switch, and daydreaming about strong hands gripping him tightly, soft lips whispering in his ear, and dragging his fingers through soft, dark curls. He masturbates a disturbing amount thinking about Tall and Gorgeous (god, he really should just like, assign him a name if he’s going to keep thinking about him. He could be a Noah. No, that’s not right. Maybe it’s something really plain like Carl. Maybe Edward? God, he hopes not, Twilight ruined that name for him. Definitely not a Jacob.) He needs to get laid. It’s been about three months, and his dick is telling him that is way too long.

When he shows up at the shop for his next shift, his boss, a sassy woman named Courtney whose illusion work would put Houdini to shame, calls him into her office.

“I need you to head back to the apartment you took last shift—where you fixed the water heater?” She hands him a work order and he sees a familiar address scrawled on top.

Quentin’s mouth drops and his pulse picks up and his dick twitches just a little at the thought of seeing Tall and Gorgeous again. Then he frowns— “Did the water heater stop working?” Maybe he was a little bit distracted when he was fixing it, but he was sure, pretty sure, that he’d fixed the problem and there was no reason why—

“No, the water heater is fine,” Courtney says, tossing her dark, wavy hair over her shoulder. “Uh, their washing machine is broken now.” She shrugs. “Guess they’re having an unlucky week.”

“Okay,” Quentin says, stretching the word out. As much as he wants to see this guy again, he was attached, to Margo, and while Quentin is fully capable of keeping control of himself, he doesn’t need any more reminders that he’s very very single, and while it would be nice to get just one more whiff of Tall and Gorgeous, he hasn’t had a date in months and—

“Quentin?” Courtney asks, giving him an exasperated look. “You with me?”

Quentin starts, realizing he’s been staring at her while he lapses into his head. “Yes!” he exclaims, and then winces at the volume of his voice. “Um, isn’t Charlie available?” he asks more quietly. “He’s way better with the… uh, water-based appliances…”

Courtney raises an eyebrow at him, and yeah, maybe Quentin is being weirder than usual, but come on Courtney, cut a guy a break. “I don’t really think that’s true,” she says, “But in any case, they specifically requested you. Because you fixed the water heater so quickly. Is that going to be a problem?”

Quentin sighs internally even as he also celebrates internally that _wow I did such a great job they want me back_! That has like, never happened. “Nope,” he says. “I’ll head over now.”

Courtney nods and twenty minutes later Quentin is standing in a familiar hallway in front of a deep blue door that he imagines with POLICE BOX stenciled across the top. He knocks and only seconds later the door is opened by the most dazzling woman he’s ever seen.

She’s shorter than he is, with shiny dark hair and big, beautiful brown eyes that he thinks could start a war if she’s not careful. Or if she’s tactically careful, he thinks. She has one hand on her hip, and she smiles at him as she looks him up and down, a very complete sweep from the top of his head to his feet. Quentin feels nearly naked, the urge to cross his arms in front of his chest nearly overpowering, and also a little turned on.

All in all, not the best way to meet Tall and Gorgeous’s wife, who must be Margo.

“Well hello,” she purrs, and _fuck_ the way she says it makes the temperature in the hallway go up a few degrees. “So glad you could get here so quickly to help us with our… problem.” The corners of her mouth perk up, and she reaches out, grabbing Quentin by the arm and pulling him inside. 

She shuts the door behind him, and Quentin sees Tall and Gorgeous standing a few feet away, a small smile on his face. God, he’s just as stunning as he was the other day, in these tight, skinny pants with a button-down and a vest and a freakin’ tie, he must be about to head out to work or somewhere that requires a tie, who would ever wear one if you weren’t forced to. _At least his collarbones are locked down,_ Quentin thinks, even as he simultaneously mourns the fact that he won’t be seeing them today.

“I’m Margo,” says Margo, and Quentin is nodding as she continues, “And you’ve already met Eliot.” She gestures over to Tall and Gorgeous. Quentin is still nodding, and then Tall and—Eliot is nodding, and they’re both just nodding at each other until Quentin thinks _You need to stop_ and he does and Eliot does and _wow_ he’s so nice to look at.

“Yes,” Quentin says, reminding himself to _act like a person_. He glances between Margo and Eliot, and they’re both smiling at him and he thinks he should check on their thermostat because it is really hot in here. He watches as Eliot and Margo exchange a glance, and he bets when they fuck they always come at the same time and they probably do it like four times a day. The thought makes his face even redder, and he quickly blinks away those thoughts ( _saves them for later_ ) and stammers out, “I’m—uh—here to fix your washing machine.”

Margo hums, lifting her eyebrows in a look Quentin can’t interpret, and beckons him to follow her to a small room behind the kitchen. “And what is your name, Magical Repairman?”

“Um. Quentin,” he says, glancing over his shoulder to see that Eliot has followed them into the tiny laundry room and is leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, listening attentively.

“Well. _Quentin_ ,” she says, and the way she says his name, rolling it around in her mouth like it’s some kind of hard candy, sends a shiver down his spine, “You did such a _great_ job with the water heater, you were the first person we thought of when the washer started acting up.” She stands off to the side, in front of the dryer, and Quentin approaches the washer, very aware of the two very sexy sets of eyes on him. _Why_ does he feel tension in the room, repairing appliances is _not_ in any way, shape or form, horny.

He opens the lid, and immediately frowns, his brow furrowing as he sees divots and tears in the wash basin. “Wow,” he says. “What happened?”

Margo sighs. “Eliot, you see, he just isn’t very good with all these fancy machines, and he accidently washed his pants with rolls of quarters in his pockets.”

Quentin’s head swings over to Eliot, his eyes immediately dropping to his crotch before he realizes what he’s doing, and he quickly turns back to the washer, knowing his face is probably tomato red. He _had_ noticed a sizeable… protrusion in that area during his last visit but he hadn’t really looked all that hard—long—uh, fuck, even his inner monologue can’t stay away from dick jokes.

“That is not what we discuss—what happened,” Eliot says, stepping forward, and Quentin is now in a very small room with two very attractive people and he doesn’t think this has ever happened to him before. “What Bambi means is I had gone to the bank to get some change and I forgot they were in there when I washed them. I don’t _usually_ have rolls of coins in my pockets, I don’t _need_ —”

“Okay!” Quentin says. “You washed some coins and it damaged the basin. I can fix this.” He looks between the two of them—“Um, it’s gonna take a bit, you guys may want to wait in the other room.” _Please don’t increase the awkward by staring at me while I twiddle my fingers and make weird faces at your appliances._

“Sure!” Eliot says brightly as he moves away, his smile turning into a glare at Margo, who either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. As they disappear around the doorway, Quentin can hear fervent whispers, which he chooses to ignore.

As he starts to fix the damage, he wonders if their washer is enchanted to clean faster or something—coins can damage your washer, but not this bad—there’s even a sizable hole much larger than a quarter in one side. Not to mention the racket it would have made. Maybe they couldn’t hear it over all the loud sex they were having.

About fifteen minutes later, Quentin is staring down at a pristine wash basin. He closes the top and starts it up, watching as the tub fills with water. It’s all staying inside, no leaks, and as it starts a wash cycle, he leaves it to complete.

“It should be good to go,” he says as he enters the kitchen. Margo is nowhere to be seen, but Eliot is leaning up against the counter. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, and shoved his shirtsleeves up so his forearms were visible. The overall effect is a kind of casual sexiness that Quentin knew he could never achieve on his best day. Eliot smiles at Quentin, and the look in his eyes makes Quentin’s mouth go dry. 

“Um,” Quentin says, “It’s doing a test cycle now, just let it complete. As long as you check your pockets before you do laundry, it should be okay.”

“Excellent,” Eliot says. “Thank you so much for coming so quickly. Let me make you a drink for your trouble.” He walks over to a little bar on one side of the living area. “Anything in particular you like?”

 _You_ , is Quentin’s first thought. He squashes that because, hello, someone’s husband, and says, “Oh, uh, I don’t want to put you—”

“Nonsense,” Eliot says. “It’s the end of the day, and I made you come all the way down here. You deserve a little… reward for all that effort.” He turns back to Quentin, the smile on his face sending a shiver down Quentin’s spine. He’s not imagining this, right? This chemistry, this _thing_ flowing between them, like electricity on steroids. “Don’t you think?”

He’s hypnotic, this man, and Quentin finds himself nodding and saying, “Okay,” without even realizing he’s doing it. The full smile Eliot gives him is so stunning it would power an entire city for a week, and makes Quentin feel warm and glittery inside, like sparklers are going off in his chest.

“So what do you like?” Eliot asks, pulling down a few glasses. “Wine, bourbon, scotch? I have it all.”

“Um,” Quentin says, taking the opportunity to look at some of the pictures on the wall. Beautiful landscapes, black and white artistic images, and several of Eliot and Margo, arms around each other and smiling. It looks like they’ve been together a long time, the thought making his heart sink in his chest. “I don’t know. I don’t drink much. And when I do it’s like—” he flails his hands as he searches for words— “Smirnoff or something.”

“O-kay,” Eliot says, nodding. “I can work with that.” He mutters under his breath, and while he works Quentin moves to the bookshelf, finding it full of fantasy novels and biographies. Tolkein, Tchaikovsky, Schwab… and Plover. He’s running his fingers over the spine of _The Girl Who Told Time_ when he hears Eliot clear his throat behind him. 

He turns, and Eliot hands Quentin a clear glass filled with a peach liquid. Their fingers brush as he hands off the glass, and a jolt of pure lust sears out of his finger through his entire body. Like, he didn’t even know that was a thing that could happen, to have your dick twitch just from fingertips brushing. Quentin looks up at Eliot to find him gazing down at Quentin, a speculative look in his eyes. Quentin gives him a small smile and brings the drink up to his nose. Because that’s what you do when someone gives you a fancy drink? You smell it, right?

The aroma is nice, fruity. Quentin takes a tentative sip, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head. “Holy shit,” he says as the sweet flavor explodes in his mouth, tingles across his tongue. “That’s… really good.” He meets Eliot’s eyes and something flips inside his stomach at the smile that spreads across his face. _God he’s so pretty_.

“Thank you,” Eliot says, pouring himself a glass of bourbon. He walks over to Quentin and clinks their glasses together. “To new friends,” he says, his eyes never leaving Quentin’s as he takes a sip of his drink.

Quentin raises his glass slightly above his head, because that is a thing his arm decided to do at that moment, and echoes Eliot’s sentiment, trying and failing to maintain eye contact with Eliot as he takes another drink of the ridiculously good peach whatever.

“You have a nice selection,” Quentin says, motioning to the bookshelf. “I love fantasy; you have a lot of my favorites.” Eliot’s eyes dart over to it, and back to Quentin, and he smiles and clears his throat.

“Yes, well, who doesn’t love a good fantasy?” Eliot asks, taking a step closer. Quentin’s eyes drop to Eliot’s fingers, wrapped around his tumbler, and Quentin thinks, not for the first time today or in the past 48 hours what they would look like wrapped around his dick.

_What are you, 16? Calm the fuck down._

“So, um, where did your girlfriend go?” Quentin asks, his eyes darting around the room like Margo might pop up from behind the couch at any moment.

Eliot chokes on his drink, coughing slightly as his eyes widen. “Uh, my what now?” he says, almost laughing.

“Margo?” Quentin asks, scratching the back of his head, taking another big gulp. He’s not sure if it’s the drink or the company, but he’s already feeling a little light-headed. “Short brunette that looks like she could kill someone on sight?”

“Ha,” Eliot says, setting his glass down. “Oh, that’s cute.” He smiles at Quentin, that same smile as before, and his stomach does that same backflip, but this time his heart gets in on it too. Then Eliot’s eyes focus on something behind Quentin, downward, and the smile drops off his face. “Oh, shit.”

“What?” Quentin turns around and sees a pool of water on the floor, spreading out of the laundry room. “Oh, fuck.”

He sets his glass down on the counter and rushes back into the laundry room, stomping through the puddle, where the washer is still finishing up the rinse cycle, just with water gushing out from the bottom of it. “I’m so sorry—I fixed the basin, I don’t know what—”

“Um,” Eliot says from behind Quentin, his fingers moving, the water disappearing as he tuts it away, “did we forget to tell you about the holes in the water hose?”

Quentin frowns at him, shutting off the washer. “How did—never mind. I’m so sorry, I should have checked everything. I just assumed it was just the basin. God.” He moves quickly, pulling the washer away from the wall and seeing that there are several neat holes puncturing the hose. _How fucking embarassing._ Eliot was being so nice, making Quentin a drink to thank him for doing such a _good job_ and Quentin fucked it all up. Like he always does.

“I can fix this and get out of your hair. I’m so fucking—sorry—” Quentin mends the hose as he talks, repairing it and looking over the rest of the washer. “We won’t bill you for this, if there’s any damage to the floor—”

“Quentin, really it’s my fault. No harm done, we should have—”

Quentin’s face is on fire and all he wants is to get out of here and hide under the covers. _You’re such a moron_. He was so distracted by how attractive someone else’s husband or boyfriend or whatever is that he failed at the _one_ thing he’s good at.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, darting around Eliot to the front room. He picks up his bag, babbling the entire way. “I’ll—uh, tell Margo I’m sorry, call if there’s anything else.” And then he’s out the door and down the stairs.

Courtney might kill him. Okay, she probably won’t. He’s kind of great at his job, but god, _what the fuck, Quentin_. He’s definitely not going to be jerking off to Eliot tonight, after what just happened.

~~~

He definitely does jerk off while thinking about Eliot, in the shower and then again at 2AM when he wakes up with his cock poking out of his boxers. He’s spent a total of ten minutes with this guy, _how_ has he masturbated about him four times in the past two days. He’s going to get laid this weekend. It _needs_ to happen, even if he has to go out and actually meet someone.

He’ll call Julia after work. She’ll be thrilled to go somewhere with him, somewhere other than one of their apartments where they play board games and watch TV, maybe she even has someone she can set him up with. God, she will literally have kittens if he asks her to set him up. But desperate times...

He walks in to see Courtney sitting at her desk, and the look she gives him instantly puts him on guard. She wasn’t really mad when he’d told her about the incident with the washer, saying it was fine, but that was yesterday and now it’s today and maybe after thinking about it overnight she’s going to fire him. Did Eliot call? Fuck, did Margo call? Images of Margo ranting about Quentin hitting on her husband—which did not happen, he only _thought_ about it (and masturbated about it, but that doesn’t count) and did not actually act on it, he didn’t even _want_ a drink—

“Only one job today.” She smiles at Quentin as she leans over her desk. “Three guesses for where it’s at.”

Quentin frowns at her, and then— “Oh god. The washing machine? Shit, Courtney, I’m so sorry—” He stops at the puzzled look she gives him.

“The washer is fine, the guy said it’s great. This time it’s the espresso machine.” She gives him a shit-eating grin that he can’t decipher.

“What?” he asks, frowning. Why does it always seem like everyone is in on the joke but him?

“He specifically asked for Quentin with the big brown eyes and soft hair.” Quentin stops short, staring at Courtney, who is still just _smiling_ at him. “Because we have so many Quentin’s running around here, you see.”

“Uh—okay.” Quentin decides to ignore that and go to what should be the most pressing issue. “I’ve never fixed an espresso machine—”

“Yeah, I know,” she says, leaning forward over her desk. “But trust me, Quentin. You’ve got this. Take as much time as you need to fix this guy’s… espresso machine. Don’t come back here tonight, if anything else comes in I’ll handle it. Okay?”

“I—uh, okay?” he says. He’s been working here for a little over a year, and Courtney’s always been like a mom to him, making sure he has a jacket when it’s cold, getting on him when he forgets to eat lunch, asking when he’s going to ‘find a nice someone and settle down.’ She’s never been so cagey before, though. “Courtney, I—”

“Quentin,” she says in that tone that brokers no room for argument. “Go. Don’t keep—” she looks down at the work order— “ _Eliot_ waiting.” She gives him one last smile and waves him away.

Quentin worries the entire way over to Eliot’s apartment, a path he has nearly memorized by now. First off, Eliot is taken. By someone that Quentin is sure would blast his dick off with no hesitation if she caught him doing _anything_ with her boyfriend/husband. Second, even if he _wasn’t_ taken, there’s no way a guy that looks like Eliot would ever be interested in Quentin. He’s gorgeous in an almost impossible way, the kind of beautiful that almost hurts to look at, like you’re staring into the sun. He could have anyone he wants (Exhibit A: the equally lustrous Margo), and people like that are just not into Quentin.

So why would he call back and ask specifically for Quentin? What’s going on? He really fucked up the washer; no way he’s calling him back for his technical prowess. So what’s the deal? Quentin is going to find out.

It’s with that resolve in his mind that he firmly knocks on the shiny blue door, and not ten seconds later Eliot is opening it up and inviting Quentin in.

“Hi,” Eliot says as Quentin steps over the threshold, shutting the door behind him. Quentin takes a quick look around, not seeing Margo or anyone else in the apartment. “So I know we called you here to fix the—”

“Espresso machine?” Quentin asks, raising an eyebrow at Eliot. 

“Right,” Eliot says hesitantly, his gaze shifting over to the kitchen and then back to Quentin. “It’s in the kitchen, but Quentin—”

“I’ll take a look,” Quentin says, walking towards the kitchen, Eliot hot on his heels. Quentin sees it on the counter and at first glance, it looks fine. “What’s wrong with it?” he asks Eliot, who is standing behind him, fidgeting almost nervously.

“Uh, it just won’t turn on. But hey, leave it a second—”

“No, let me redeem myself; I promise I’ll do a better job than I did with the washing machine.” Quentin finds the power switch and flicks it on, and sure enough nothing happens. He frowns as Eliot continues talking.

“You did a _great_ job with the washing machine, we were—” He stops talking as Quentin holds up the power cord, which is sitting on the counter. He looks at Eliot and plugs it into the nearby outlet. Then he flicks the power switch, watching as the espresso machine hums as it comes on.

“Well, I think I found your problem,” Quentin says dryly.

Eliot stares at him for a moment, and then says, “Margo’s not my girlfriend.”

Quentin’s first thought is _Thank God,_ and his second is _Did you really not double check that the thing was plugged in before you called me back here?_ He looks at the espresso machine, to Eliot, and then back to the probably-way-overpriced-machine that is lit up, awaiting whatever buttons need to be pushed to tell it what to do next. “Okay?” Quentin says, fully turning back to Eliot.

“She’s my friend. My _best_ friend,” Eliot says, taking a step towards Quentin. He has a kind of half-smile on his face that is the most tender thing Quentin’s ever seen in his life. “I’m _very_ single and I was really hoping I could get your number before I have to take a hammer to the coffeemaker. Bambi would be really upset if she has to face the morning without caffeine because I needed an excuse to see you again.” His eyes dart off to the side, and then back to Quentin.

Quentin’s mouth falls open in a startled laugh, and he knows his face is going red from how warm he suddenly feels. The holes in the washing basin, the hose… “You broke your own washing machine?”

Eliot rolls his eyes. “ _Technically_ Margo broke it; she had a lot of fun with it, actually.” He clears his throat, cheeks burning as he continues, “Not my normal M.O., but I wasn’t sure how else to get in touch with you. You ran out so fast, and I just—” he pauses, looking away, “knew I had to see you again.”

 _Wow_. Quentin looks around the kitchen, thinking someone is going to pop out with a hidden camera, or Margo with a kitchen knife saying “Psych, bitch!” But it’s only him and Eliot, that same _thing_ buzzing between them, only now it’s crackling and sparking, alive and pulling them together like magnets. 

Quentin feels a goofy smile spreading on his face, and he takes a step towards Eliot, who’s watching him carefully. “I thought this _was_ a coffee maker,” he says stupidly, nodding towards the espresso machine.

“No,” Eliot laughs. “Only the really fancy ones do both.” He takes another step closer to Quentin.

“This isn’t a fancy one?” Quentin says, stepping forward again until they’re just a foot away. “I’ve never used one before.”

“Really?” Eliot says, reaching out and touching Quentin’s hand, threading their fingers together. God, it’s like the best kind of magic is flowing through him right now, from his fingers up his arm to the rest of his body, and Quentin can’t help but squeeze Eliot’s palm. Eliot reaches up and pushes Quentin’s hair behind his ear as he asks, “How were you going to fix it if you’d never used one before?”

“I was gonna wing it,” Quentin whispers. He can see those little flecks of gold in Eliot’s hazel eyes again, and he feels the purest kind of high as he inhales softly, the sharp scent of cinnamon and spice filling his nostrils. “And yes.” He tugs slightly on Eliot’s hand and Eliot shuffles even closer, until they’re nearly chest to chest.

“Yes what?” Eliot asks, staring down at Quentin, his hand drifting down his cheek. A force beyond Quentin’s control moves his hand to rest against Eliot’s chest, the action done before Quentin even decided he was going to do it.

“You can have my number,” he whispers, pushing up and placing a tentative kiss on Eliot’s lips. Those sparklers that Quentin had felt in his chest when their fingers touched are now bursting all over his body, and he’s a little light-headed he slowly pulls back. He looks into Eliot’s eyes, and Eliot slowly nods, as if he’s in a daze.

“Great,” he says, before he leans down and captures Quentin’s lips in another kiss. It’s warm and liquid, and Quentin pulls his hand from Eliot’s so he can place it on Eliot’s neck, feel the rapid beating of Eliot’s pulse under his fingertips.

A small guttural noise escapes Eliot as he threads his fingers through Quentin’s hair, and he deepens the kiss, his tongue slipping into Quentin’s mouth. Quentin sucks on it, his other hand around Eliot’s waist, pulling him in as close as he can be.

A few minutes later they pull back, panting into each other’s mouths. “Shit,” Quentin whispers. “You’re a really good kisser.”

“Uh huh,” Eliot says, a little dazed. “I mean, uh, thank you.” He clears his throat, one hand resting on the back of Quentin’s neck. “Can I take you to dinner tonight?”

“God,” Quentin says, “Yes.” He laughs, one arm still wrapped around Eliot’s waist, his other hand on the side of Eliot’s neck, his thumb swiping along Eliot’s jaw. He smiles up at Eliot, unable to contain the weird bubble of anticipation in his chest. “This kind of thing doesn’t really happen to me.”

Eliot barks out a laugh. “Well, I don’t usually have to resort to breaking my things to convince someone that I’m not straight. And interested in them.”

“You could have just left a message for me at work. Or come by.”

“ _Go_ to where you work? I’m not a _stalker_ , Quentin.”

“No, you’re just willing to destroy hundreds of dollars worth of your stuff to meet a guy.”

“You should probably know that sometimes I’m a little dramatic. It was all Margo’s stuff, anyway.”

~~~

**Author's Note:**

> From the prompt:  
> Quentin has a cute repair guy; is he intentionally breaking things to make the hot repair guy keep coming back?
> 
> (Obviously I flipped it around, but I would _love_ to see Quentin breaking his shit that he can obviously fix to keep Eliot coming back until he works up the nerve to make a move.)
> 
> Please find me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/rubickk7) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Rubick71).


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